


Tender Tenor

by Hgrade



Series: Shadowzone Reverbs [5]
Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Amputation, Attempted Murder, Blood | Energon, M/M, Other, Rape, Size Difference, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hgrade/pseuds/Hgrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rampage makes a break for it, but finds himself warming up to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Tenor

**Author's Note:**

> Those tags are serious, you can turn back now while you still have a chance!  
> Rampage trying to kill Megatron, the fanfiction.

The leader of the small Predacon faction is thinking too hard in his lonely office, and has no idea something will interrupt him. Megatron scrolls through the reports, barely comprehending since nothing of importance has occurred in any of them. Their search for information has them sneaking around the Maximal lair, poking their optics into infrequently charted areas. He'd call his crew clever if they weren't so adept at picking fights and losing them too. 

Everyone should be paying more attention to the largest psychopath in the Predacon fold. The large bot has chosen a secure spot on the hallway's ceiling, not budging to even breath. Rampage has been watching, just like the others have been keeping an eye on the enemy. Rampage has been waiting very carefully. He observes the Waspinator, a bot of no consequence leaving Megatron's personal quarters hardly ten cycles ago. It's like clockwork, he's noticed it after ten solar cycles. 

Either way, the usual lull is gathering before Rampage. Mentally the mutant goes over what he knows of the Predacon's positions. Most of them are out keeping watch, or tending to their experiments. He'd love to rip Turantulas apart piece by piece, maybe even feed the arachnid's legs to himself or to his female counterpart. While vengeance will be sweet, it'll be sweeter still once he's had time to nurture Megatron's hate. The bot fantasizes about hearing those screams of pain, of watching the energon drip out of his prey's lines. Watching a spark fade has to be one of the most beautiful sights Rampage has ever known.

The world feels dreamlike, things happen exactly as he's envisioned them. None of the other bots are around, Megatron has left his door open. It doesn't ask for a code, or confirmation of identity. Rampage ponders if they were asking, pleading for the enemy to come in the night and snuff them out. Maximals are supposed to be more honorable than that, right. Then why was a bot like Protoform X ever created, why did he feel such lust for energon dripping down his maw, for all of those like him to be dead. Bots that are nearly the same as his own protoform, but fundamentally weaker. 

Megatron is weak. Rampage thinks the words so hard that he can almost feel them vibrating out of his audials. Normally he wouldn't hold himself back, but Megatron is so close. The purple 'con doesn't even turn at the sound of approaching pedes. His helm does turn to one side slightly, as if unfamiliar with the sound. Nano-klik, it feels like the nano-klik will never end. Rampage curses at it, seethes as the moment stretches into an eternity of Megatron standing there. The bot does not move, nor does he. They are trapped in the eternal moment of nothing.

A shift, Megatron's hand drawing back. Rampage doesn't see the crystalline cage holding his spark, but it gives a warm lurch when the servo cups over it. Accursed fragging fool, the red bot snarls and charges forward. His hands scrabble to Megatron's corresponding arms, finding purchase and jerking them both back. Megatron hisses as something immensely important gives, slides and pops with a painfully sharp clang. Rampage clicks his little mouthparts together as he hears the caged spark hit the floor with a dull noise. Applause should be given to Megatron for not screaming upon the dislocation of his shoulder.

Then the fun begins, his laughter oddly pleasant. Megatron's fear becomes palatable, "Just give up, let me have my time and I'll execute you." he knees Megatron's groin from behind, sharply. The bot quakes and gasps, systems straining as his struggles have yet to cease. Rampage toys with how long the leader will last. He pushes the bot forward, and presses his full weight on Megatron's frame. A hand grips the maw-arm and then lifts the massive skull up. For a second the mouth gapes open, then snaps shut as Rampage begins to slam it into the desk's surface. The face hisses and sputters blood from between its toothy maw, having punctured the roof of its own mouth. Rampage caresses an eye-ridge coyly. Groaning comes from the stressed metal, Megatron's optics glitch as he looks up at the larger bot. 

It's downright pleasant, so the red bot smiles. Megatron grits his teeth as Rampage begins to channel raw electricity against the organic flesh of his armor. Blue-white light skitters across the flesh, burning it black at the points Rampage's fingers touch. Rampage counts the new look as an improvement. The bot steps back and pulls Megatron up, face to face. His optics jitter from pure output to the correct feed of red on dark red. It smells like burnt flesh and ozone, disgusting. The ship's already starting to feel more like home. Megatron's arm is leaking a sluggish trail of energon down the front. 

Rampage puts his hand at the nook of where shoulder and neck meet, the other on the broken arm's elbow. Megatron's expression goes from cool indifference to abstract horror in a micro-klik. The purple bot's hand is on the servo gripping his neck now, he has no time to stop Rampage from shoving the broken arm back in socket. The pain is fresh, then increases exponentially. Megatron screams as Rampage forces his elbow to bend in the wrong direction, energon, lubricant, nanites, everything spurting out as Rampage rips off the offensive appendage.

Pedes have scraped deep ruts in the flooring, Rampage considers the struggling bot's face. He presses his servo tighter to the throat, impeding any words of protest. The violence, the fear in those eyes have made him feel alive again. Megatron shudders as the larger bot leans down, biting into the flesh of his bicep. The mandibles fit together like a zipper made out of knife-sharp edges, snipping at the scaly flesh. The armor-organic gives under the sharp mandibles, leaking ichor and energon profusely. Rampage has got to hand it to Megatron, he's really holding still and cooperating as much as possible. 

His interface panels are pinging him, usually they don't get to that point. Megatron's whimpers and half-bitten groans are very, very charming. Rampage begins to rub his panel against Megatron's, eliciting a disgusted look. "Open before I rip it off." the red hand squeezes harder, harder. Megatron's having trouble thinking when half his HUD is flooded with warnings and damage reports. Rampage lets them open, the cooler air registering as each cord begins to twine and twist together. 

Speaking dryly, between his bruised, scratched-up face "F-fine." gets choked out from Megatron. The panels retract and the lead Predacon realizes this is probably going to hurt more than he'd care for. Arm missing or not, he has more sensor nodes in his body than out. Megatron winces as the bigger bot shoves his dry fingers inside, dipping in two at once.

Rampage pulls out his fingers immediately and gives them a curious look. Megatron is well lubricated, and with silvery-metallic transfluid too. That answers several questions Rampage had, the red bot adds an additional finger and scissors his fingers before replacing them with the blunt head of his swollen cord. Megatron's channel is warm, slick and inviting. The purple bot makes a muffled noise of protest at every stroke in, brows knitted together in an angry expression to go with it. 

He doesn't want this at all, not any part of him wants to be fragged when he's now bleeding from his missing arm and hurt paneling. The servo on his neck is squeezing so hard, so very hard. When the bot moves too deep and hard, he grumbles and chokes. Megatron doesn't want to do anything but throttle Rampage with his cut off arm. That would make a wonderful sight wouldn't it. Rampage finishes once, Megatron can feel the fluid stinging his channel. The point where the cooler fluid is dribbling out is deep inside of his body, very high up. Megatron tries to ignore the part of him saying something has been broken, because he knows dozens of parts have been cracked.

It lasts too long, far too long for Megatron to register. The unimaginable pain almost offlines him, but he struggles against the warning messages. Rampage putting pressure on his shoulder armor only to make them crack from the weight. Sickening crunching, the splatter of his energon leaking from the bent stump of his arm hits his audial receptors. Megatron begins to shutter away the warning messages as he begins to scream hoarsely. 

 

Waspinator had only left for gathering a few cubes and a data pad full of readings. Actually finding the data and sorting out the ones Megatron wanted to analyze took longer than expected. Waspinator is aware that he's not a cleverbot. The flier makes his way back to Megatron's quarters slowly, double checking that he hasn't forgotten anything along the way. It wouldn't do to piss off Megatron. 

He doesn't make a sound when the door opens to a confusing and spark breaking sight. Immediately his processor picks out Rampage's kibble and Megatron's form on the desk. Hurt courses through his processor, why would Megatron be fragging Rampage of all bots. Right after Wasp left as well. Antenna shivering, he picks up the smell of spilled energon. Then the waft of crisped flesh hits him. Wasps optic's trail to the side of the "berth", to Megatron's severed arm. Waspinator grimaces and wonders if Megatron is even alive, he wouldn't hesitate to lump Rampage in the necrophiliac category.

Tanks churning with upset fuel, Wasp picks up on their leader's pained grunt. Still moving, that's good. Waspinator's helm whips about, Rampage must of taken his spark back. That means everyone's going to die. Even as his thoughts race to his sudden demise, something catches his optic. Lodged in the doorframe is a familiar half-spark.

Rampage stops enjoying himself as a sudden, sharp pain engulfs his spark chamber. In less than a nano-klik the pressure spreads to his spark chamber, then his entire torso. Charge, too much charge despite his own ability to send out electrical currents. The large bot begins to scream, voice distorted by the raw pain. Smoke begins to flow from his overheated vents, from between gnashed teeth. Hyperventilating makes the smoke fold over itself, the sight would of been charming if not for the fact the 'con was buried in a bloody, bleeding body. 

A sick sort of joy fills Waspinator, and he recognizes just why Megatron cherishes squeezing Rampages spark so much. He doesn't let go until the red shelled bot goes limp atop Megatron. Wasp can't stop his antenna from running together as he surveys the damage. 

Quickstrick was just dropping by to give Megatron some info good old Turantulas had given over. The fuzor doesn't pick up on Waspinator's familiar, panicked odor until he's in front of the lead Predacon's quarters. Not that Quickstrick can even categorize the faint variances in anyone's mood from smell alone. The door is ajar, he can't remember if that's unusual or not. Quickstike dares to step forward, eyes adjusting to the carnage of energon on the floor and walls. Rampage is a big pile of worthlessness on the floor, Waspinator is pinching wires and lines shut on Megatron's exposed shoulder stump. There is so much energon on everything. There's so much coming out of Megatron. 

Quickstrick quietly takes a few steps back, and slowly leans against the wall. The fuzor sinks slowly to the floor and cradles his head as the sound of voices begin to rise in the room beside him.

Waspinator doesn't pay attention to Megatron, not until he's done stemming the bleeding. He doesn't expect the bigger bot to drag his face against Megatron's. He doesn't struggle when there's a tongue down his throat or just a single servo scrabbling at his back plating. He doesn't struggle when Megatron begs.

Quickstrike thinks he's going to be sick, so sick. He tries to will his audial receptors off but Megatron is talking so fast, too fast. His voice is so loud, too loud. The bot can't cover his head right either, because the tone the purple bot is using is so empty. His pedes refuse to listen. He is stuck to the floor, listening to Megatron and Waspinator desperately converse.


End file.
